


it's been a while

by radvsew



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Guilt, Multi, Past Relationship(s), Post Season 15, Slow Burn, this is pre-shisno paradox, yorkington if you squint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-25 06:35:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17719994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radvsew/pseuds/radvsew
Summary: Washington is coping with his brain damage and Carolina is left to cope with everything else.





	1. almost

 She sits up too quick. The tough helmet hitting the metal sheet above makes a reverberating clang that seems to echo through her head for longer than it should have. She knows that her armour is back online and her body is trying to heal, but it still feels like everything is in a haze. Like she’s two steps behind everyone else. This isn’t a feeling that Carolina takes well.

Throwing her legs out over the side of the bunk bed, making sure to keep her head low, she finds the rung of a ladder beneath her left heel. The room is darker than it should be. A clear sign that she slept for longer than she should have. As her foot pivots, she spins her upper body around so it’s facing the ladder. In any other circumstance, she would let herself make the short fall between the lofted bed and the ground, but not right now.

A few more rungs and she’s back on the ground and she can feel the ache in the joints of her knees as she skips the last foothold and both feet hit the ground. She stands up, now completely, and feels her neck and back finally straighten up. Stretching her arms as far as the go, she hears a satisfying pop come from her right shoulder, and with gentle coaxing, she can make her left have the same reaction. _You’re getting old, ‘Lina_ , she thinks to herself with slight chagrin.

After almost an entire week on Chorus, you would think that she’d be back to normal. She takes a few steps forward, reaching for the door handle and pushing it open slowly. The bright light leaks in and she instinctively uses her arm to cover the light despite the helmet already doing the work for her. As the door eases further, it hits something that’s not going to move. She slips out the door into the unsurprising hustle and bustle of the medical clinic, closing the door with a soft click.

With minimal investigation to see what was blocking it from opening all the way, she could spot that there was a box moved next to the door. She shoves it to the side with her foot, but after a few seconds, she bends over to replace the box in the exact same place that she found it in. You can never be too careful. She still doesn’t know if it’s safe.

Walking through the corridor of the medical centre is something she’s been doing a lot lately. Whenever Wash needs to have tests done or she can’t stand to look at him writhing in pain, she wanders through the halls. She knows these hallways. If you take the next left turn, you end up in the makeshift maternity unit. She’s only made this mistake once.

Maternal instincts were never her cup of tea. Hell, she barely had her own mother around. How would she even start to talk care of a baby? But even so, the pang in her heart felt all the same as she saw a new mother holding her child to her breast. She thinks about the baby’s gentle gurgle and its mother’s endearing smile sometimes. Almost wonders if it’s too late. If she could do it. But only almost.

“Good evening, Agent Carolina” says Dr. Grey, making Carolina realize she’d stopped in the middle of the hallway. Loitered a second too long.

“And to you, Grey. Wash showing any improvements?” And it goes back to Wash. As always.

“He’s up and walking! A truly miraculous recovery on his part.” _Yeah,_ she thinks, _on his part_. With no response from Carolina other than a slight head tilt, Grey tries to fill the dead space in the air with a dismissal. “Well I’d better be off! Places to go, people to study!”

Without even saying anything, Carolina walks away. She turns into the hallway on her right and scans the faces of those who walk past her and a couple of them ring a bell. There’s a blonde girl supporting someone in a leg cast. Her laugh is bubbly and bright as they lean against each other and laugh. It’s like watching a couple teenagers try and walk home from a party.

She’s hit with a sudden wave of nostalgia and her mind goes back to Project Freelancer. She can remember many nights laughing and drinking and carrying on with the people that she felt were her family. She remembers the bars and the laughter and everyone leaning on each other, just like the blonde woman and her companion.

She presses her hand against the pocket in her body suit in a panic and makes sure there’s still a small rectangular bulge. She pants the pocket and continues to walk down the hallway towards the nurse’s station. A crucial checkpoint to be allowed in Wash’s part of the hospital due to the fact you have to check in and check out.

Carolina looks around and, other than the handful of guards and Dr. Grey of course, she’s the only one in uniform. Overdressed and under rested. Sounds about right. The months on vacation had spoiled her. She tried to keep up her standard, but after a while it got more and more difficult. Running on little sleep and being a little beat up never hurt her before, but now she’s exhausted. Things have changed.

She takes off her helmet as she walks up the nurse’s station, one hand holding the helmet as one hand smooths the top of her hair towards her ponytail. “I’m here to see Agent Washington” She says to the nurses and one of them starts to type something on a computer.

Carolina holds her helmet up and inspects the helmet in her hand as she waits and tries to rub out a nasty scuff with the pad of her thumb. As she’s investigating her helmet that’s seen better days, a shadow appears out of the corner of her eye. “Back so soon, Carolina?” She turns and Washington is standing just beyond the desk, leaning in a doorway with an IV drip in his left hand.

She drops her helmet and it hits the floor with a loud rash, followed by several smaller ones that indicate the helmet rolled before it stopped. She breaks into a jog until the distance between them had closed off. “David, you’re an asshole, don’t ever do that again.” She utters as she wraps herself around him.

“Woah, still not steady on my feet. Take it easy.” Wash says as he partially withdraws from her, but only to lean more against the doorframe, obviously weaker than normal.

Carolina pulls back from him, at least 6 inches taller than him now that she’s in boots and he’s barefooted on the floor, and places her gloved hands on the sides of his face. She can see the crow’s feet around his eyes and the lines in his forehead from where he furrows is eyebrows in concentration.

She can tell that he’s half out of it by the way his eyes are partially glazed over and how he looks at her with an innocent smirk, breaking the silence between them. “Gonna come in?”

He pulls away from him and lets him orient himself as he turns around. He walks at a slow pace. Carolina retrieves her helmet from the hallway floor and follows behind him. His clothes are dishevelled, but she can still pick out his calf muscles beneath the gray sweatpants and his toned left shoulder relying on the IV stand for support. Carolina can feel her face flush.

He sits on the hospital bed by tucking his right leg under him and scooting back on the bed. “So, how’s everyone else been?”

She scans the room as she begins to speak, focusing on the hand-picked flowers on his nightstand as not to exacerbate the pink across her nose and cheeks. “I’ve been staying here for the most part, so I can’t really speak on behalf of the others. Caboose and Tucker made a few visits” she gestures to the bouquet of flowers, with a crayon illustrated card sitting next to it “and Grif comes here when he wants to get away. But overall, everything has calmed down.”

He smiles as he comprehends the information and nods his head. “How long has it been?” he asks. “Around a week. Six days, I think.” He nods again and leans further into his bed as his feet dangle off the side.

Carolina is still standing with her helmet in her hand like a small child holding a stuffed animal. Wash gestures towards empty bed beside him in a way asking her to take a seat, but instead, Carolina places her helmet on a nearby table and eases into the chair n the corner.

“Oh, come on, ‘Lina. After all this time. Don’t wanna catch cooties?” he says with a mocking frown and a slight chortle.

She smirks and lets out a half laugh “Glad to see you’re feeling better.”

Hours pass as they talk, ignoring the orderlies as they come in and take notes of Wash’s vitals. The conversation bounces back and forth and Carolina is just grateful to be able to talk to him again. You don’t realize how much you miss someone until you’re forced to live without them.

At one point, Washington has to leave for a shower and Carolina ends up going back to her quarters and getting one too. She feels at ease as the hot water runs down her back and soothes her aching muscles. The gentle scent of her shampoo adds to the ease in her mind.

Wash is okay she thinks he made it, and so did we. He’s awake and walking and smiling and laughing and it’s almost like nothing changed. Almost. His eyes were still half glazed over and it’s like he’s living in a daze. So close, but so far.

Carolina steps out of the shower and towels herself off. In the mirror she can see the lines and jagged red marks that adorn her chest and upper body, but almost as soon as she looks, she has to take her eyes away. Scars have too many memories and damnit she is not ruining this good mood.

The teal green pile of armour on the floor calls her name, but she decides against it. The cool lycra of her workout leggings is a welcoming compression. She puts a flowy, cotton shirt, which covers the rectangular bulge in her waistband.  Carolina looks in the mirror and places her damp hair in a loose bun atop her head.

She puts on a simple pair of lace up sneakers and leaves the officer quarters where she was given a room. She walks through the dirt and gravel roads of Chorus. She approaches an outcropping off the path and surveys the scene behind the makeshift chain-link fence.

She takes out York’s lighter and fiddles with it. It doesn’t light anymore, and the paint is worn off in more than one place. It doesn’t stop Carolina from flicking the flint wheel and watching spark over and over. She closes the top and clutches the lighter in her hand and raises her arm.

One throw and it’s gone forever. The lush jungle will swallow it up, never to be seen again. She can actually start over. She thinks of Wash and his graying hair and the piercing blue hue of his eyes. She thinks of his laugh and the smile lines around his mouth when he smiles.

Then she thinks of York. The smooth, dulcet tones of his voice, his strong arms, and the way his body fit against hers. She thinks of his smirk and his charm. She thinks of the new mother in the maternity ward. And she lowers her arm. She places the lighter back in the small pocket of her pants.

She’s not ready to let it go, let him go. Not yet. Not right now.


	2. again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometimes a family is colour coded sim-troopers, two freelancers, and a small robot and thats ok

Wash wakes up at night. Well, that’s a bit of an understatement. Wash is woken up at night. He can’t control where his dreams take him and he can’t control what he sees, but as far as Carolina thinks, she can control who he sees when he wakes up.

She runs her hands across his shoulders while he faces the wall. Sometimes the sobbing is silent and his shoulders heave, but sometimes there’s screams. She knows what he’s thinking of. He doesn’t know why it’s on repeat, but she does.

Carolina knows what to say and Wash knows that. He knows that when he wakes up to her saying “It’s okay Wash. The war is over.” that she’s not lying. The war as been over for years now, at least he thinks. _Yes_. _It’s_ _been_ _years_. When he wakes up, he doesn’t go back to sleep. Instead, him and ‘Lina sit up and talk or sometimes they watch dumb, pointless television, and sometimes they only lay in silence. They both know the sound of each other breathing helps.

When they talk, they talk about everything. One night, they started about the Project. Wash could hear a sharp inhale when he brought it up. “How many people have we lost?”

Carolina doesn’t reply. She knows how many. She’s counted it in her head and felt it in her heart every time she loses someone else. She felt the ticker go up when the bullet went through Wash’s neck. And now she sits here, Agent David-fucking-Washington sitting in front of her. She can’t but help but feel she’s on borrowed time.

So, she borrows the time. She stays up until the early morning light filters through the windows and she can see the way that his cheekbones stick out more now, and how his eyes look sullen and tired. Even more than she remembers they used to.

One day, with nothing else to do, they make a pillow fort. They drape a sheet from the posts of their perpendicular single beds and litter the floor underneath with blankets and pillows and even a fluffy sweater or two.

They sit in their makeshift tent and listen to the hum and chirps of the early morning cicadas. “Doesn’t this feel like when you were a kid?”

Carolina frowns, and thinks for a moment. “I don’t think I ever made a pillow fort.”

“You never made a pillow fort!?” Wash is on the verge of yelling and she doesn’t want everyone else woken up.

She laughs for a second “Yes Wash” she motions for him to keep it down after he lets out a shriek “I can’t ever remember ever making one.”

“That’s absurd! That’s blasphemy!” he yells, now, much to Carolina’s disagreement.

There’s a harsh rasp on the door, and then Carolina sees a tuft of light brown curls poke its way in.

“Agent Washingtub are you yelling about blacksmiths because I d-” Wash knows what’s coming “IS THAT A PILLOW FORT”

And then there is a very heavy and very excited Caboose wriggling on the top of both of them. All three of them erupt into heart and chaotic laughter. In response to the commotion, Tucker ends up stood in the doorway.

He makes his way into the room almost keeled over in laughter and sits on the right, now barren, mattress.

“You fucking idiots!” he can barely get it out between laughs “you made a fucking” and another wheeze “goddamn blanket fort!”

Wash has to yell to be heard over Carolina and Caboose’s play fighting and carrying-on “Yes Tucker and you’re not invited!”

Which means, of course, Tucker is definitely invited. He manages to squeeze between a bumbling Caboose and Wash, making himself a loud and known presence. He starts to pick at Wash, ruffling his hair in a way that you’d see an older brother do to an annoying younger one.

If there’s any kind commotion, everyone knows that Sarge has to be involved. Se he comes in, metaphorical guns blazing, yelling something or other about dirty blues. There’s a robe is haphazardly tied around his waist and one of his thick wool socks is resting higher than the other. The socks are slippery against the polished barrack floor, causing him to almost glide as he walks and when he sees the four of them in their tent made of standard issued flat sheets, he stops in his tracks.

Sarge doesn’t know that Carolina is watching him, so he cracks a smile and lets a chuckle escape his lips. He moves into the room further and leans against one of the lockers, crossing his arms. She can’t help but think _this is what a family feels like_.

Despite the fumbling mass of grown ass men beside her, she notices a tired and prosthetic-less Simmons make his appearance in the doorway. And when she thinks she sees a shirtless and barefooted Grif come up behind him, that’s when the blanket collapses.

They all know it was going to happen eventually, but with the harsh light of the sunrise filtering through the thin sheet, everything seems to stop. Its like world was put on pause for a second and everything is moving in slow motion.

She looks at Wash, with his dark roots standing out from his bleached hair and his smile that could light up a room, and they make eye contact. She shoots him a wink and a smile, and then everything feels like it speeds up again.

And that’s how they start their morning, with the four of them wrestling their way out of a blanket fort, and another officer muttering swears as he walks down the hall.  She couldn’t tell, but she thinks she hears Grif call him out.

When the madness dies down, Caboose starts to fix his halo of curls into a slightly less messy arrangement and he looks at Carolina. “This would’ve been a lot more fun of Church was here.”

“Yeah buddy” she says as she pulls his impressively large frame him under her arm “I think it would be too.”

The next day, they get a notice that all of them were reassigned to a smaller barracks. A more private barracks. With just enough room for them all. _This is the beginning of something good_ she thinks _. This is healing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the reception for this is so much better than i thought it would be. thank y'all so much. i was also wondering if i should do weekly or bi-weekly uploads? obviously not at this frequency but idk


	3. realize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i mean, it's not his fault he has boyish charm and good looks

Carolina can’t remember the last time her muscles didn’t ache, but the name at the top of the leader board proves why. There’s only so many punches you can land and so many missions you can win before you start making your way up, and her name’s never seen a decline. That is, until Agent-motherfucking- Texas shows up.

“I don’t know how she fucking does it, York!” She gestures wildly, spilling the froth of her beer on the floor beneath them. They’re sitting on the floor of the common room in civvies, the fabric sticking to their bodies because of the humidity.

 “Christ, Lina. Calm down.” They both has a few careless swigs of whatever shitty liquor that York managed to bum from South when she went on leave under their belts.

The heat makes them both roll up their sleeves to the plain black shirts they both wear and York gets to admire the way that Lina’s arm muscles look in this light. She is newly post-workout, so they’re even more defined that they usually are, and the water in the air couple with the sweat makes her almost glisten,

“You don’t understand! That’s” she hiccups under her breath “MY spot! She _had_ to come and fuck it all up!” She uses her free hand to steady herself. Her right leg is tucked underneath her and her left is extended straight out. She was sitting cross legged, but after complaining how her foot was “falling asleep” she had elongated herself fully.

York laughs into his beer rolls his eyes at her exasperation. She can feel that he’s mocking her and she stands up, downing the rest of her drink. “Maybe if I was so used to being in second place like you, I wouldn’t care!”

York lets out a grunt and keeps his mouth closed, linking his fingers together. He can feel the temperature difference in his hands from holding his drink. _She’s drunk, York_. Delta pipes in, silent until now. _Yes D, I am well aware_. He thinks in response, trying not to lash out against her.

Carolina is nearing six feet tall. Her shoulders are broad and strong, and her chest is one that belongs to a professional fighter. She shifts into a fighting stances and bobs back and forth, alternating the weight on her feet. She’s ready.

“C’mon York, I know you’re mad. Prove it. _Fucking_ show me!” She makes a “come here” motion with her frontmost hand like you’d see in old kung-fu movies. _I think she wants to fight you._ He sighs. _Yes D, I know. Sign off._  York can feel Delta protest stiffen through his body. _But Agent York, you would be much more effective if I stay- Delta. Sign Off._

York stands up and puts his hands up in a way of surrendering to placate her. “Fucking loser” she scoffs at him with a grimace. She drops her stance and spits at the floor. “Can’t even fucking fight.” York knows that she’s drunk. He knows that she’s mad, but most of all, he knows what she wants.

He rushes forwards, pinning her against a nearby wall. He knows that she doesn’t actually want a fight. If she wanted a fight he’d be on the floor, not with one hand on her throat and the other holding her arms from escaping.

He leans in close, playing along with her game. “Take it back, Agent Carolina.” She laughs and tilts her head up, ignoring his request. _Always fucking cocky, Carolina_.  He moves his hand up to cup her jaw, still using his forearm to pin her chest, and guides her face to meet his gaze. “I said take it back, you bitch.”

The adrenaline mixed with an inexplicable lust creates a hell-bent look in her eyes. When Carolina fights, she fights to win. Using her sheer strength and his forward momentum, she overpowers him. He’s slammed against the wall, face first, when the space that Carolina used to occupy is now empty. He knows what’s happening, this is how it always happens.

This is a dance they’ve done many, many times. This is a familiar tango between the two of them as they each try to overpower the other. They always end up bruised and breathless, ending up in the other’s bed the next morning. They always end up with awkward glances in the locker room and then days after, repeating it like nothing happened.

She wraps her arm across his chest and whispers in his ear, sending cold shivers through York’s body. He flips around, facing her. He’s surprised that he lets him, and he takes advantage by pressing his hand against her hip. Too bold. She doesn’t like that. Well, she does, she’s just never letting _him_ know that.

Her arm bars against his neck with newfound intensity and he gasps as an unintentional acknowledgement. Carolina presses her hips against York, and uses his reaction to gauge what she’ll do next. He presses back, so she keeps going. Toying with him.

She moves in closer with an open mouth, leaving a trail of hot breath up his neck and against his ear. “Make me.”

He strains against her arm, and catches her mouth with his. They fit together perfectly and close any distance between them. He can feel her start to loosen up, almost melting against him. This is when he retaliates.  He hooks his foot behind the crook of her knee and they both go to the floor, but York overpowers her.

He catches her arms, pinning them above her head, and leans in. She can feel his laboured breath and his quickened heartbeat. He starts to run his mouth up the side of her neck, hitching his teeth and sucking on the spots where she pulls in her breath suddenly.

“Uh hey guys, just wanna remind you that this is a common space and I don’t wanna watch you fuck while I’m tryna eat cereal.”

They both sit up quickly, completely dropping their personas. Wash is standing in the doorway holding a bowl and spoon wearing nothing but pyjama pants. He watches the both of them stand up, shovelling a spoonful of sugary bullshit into his mouth.

“You can come back now, D.” York says, breaking the tension in the room.

Carolina stands up and stretches, cracking her knuckles above her head, exposing her lower abdomen. She can feel them both watching. _Good._ “And here I was thinking this was allll Delta.”

She saunters towards the door, leaving York standing awkwardly trying to distract from his tented sweatpants. She stops just in front of Washington and plucks a single Corn Pop out of the top of his bowl. “Too sweet this late at night” she tosses the orb of cereal into the air in front of her face and catches in in her mouth “gonna end up with bad dreams.”

She smirks at him, and the glances at York over her shoulder. His cheeks are flushed and he’s trying to play in cool in front of Wash, act like wasn’t just caught in a sex-fuelled power struggle. She leaves the room, and Washington walks further in.

He settles on a worn leather couch and hears something creak beneath him. He nestles his bowl against his chest with one hand and uses the other to find the remote He leans across the couch, almost over extending his reach, and captures the remote in his hand.

He flicks on a dumb house hunting show and resumes his cereal. The bowl is cold against his chest but he welcomes it. He can feel a presence behind him, but refuses to acknowledge it. _If I have to walk in on you then I’m not talking to you about gabled roofs._

“Beauty of a place, the moon.” And he has to break the silence. David rolls his eyes and doesn’t answer, but he hopes that York an tell that he’s chewing his cereal angrily. This, of course, doesn’t stop York from plopping down next to him on the couch.

He has his drink back in his hand, and tries to reach across the couch and take a piece of the cereal sticking to the side of the bowl. “What’s with you assholes and trying to eat my cereal” he says as he swats York’s hand and leans away.

York laughs gently and places his feet on the coffee table in front of them. “Seriously! Cereal is not a sharing food. It’s a very personal experience!” Wash is very heated now, and has leaned forward in the couch. His body is tilted towards York and York starts to admire his straining muscles.

Wash is waving his spoon around very aggressively and complaining about the sanctity of cereal or some other bullshit like that, but all York can focus on is the contortion of David’s abdomen as he talks and the rise and fall of his chest as he breaths.

“Earth to York! Are you even listening?” York snaps his head up and looks at Wash with a single raised eyebrow that can either indicate “Huh” or “Of course I was” but Wash calls him on his bluff.

“You were checking me out, weren’t you!” he raises his spoon in a way that York can only view as comical. He’s holding a fucking spoon like a weapon. “You” _smack_ “useless” _smack_ “fucking” _smack_ “bisexual!”

York is laughing harder than ever and tries to shy away from Wash’s futile attacks. “Please Agent Washington” he wheezes “anything but the spoon!”

“This isn’t fair! I walk in on you making out and now you’re ruining Moonfront Bargain Hunt. I didn’t even get to see the second house. What if that’s the one they choose? I won’t know what’s happening!” York puts his half empty beer on the table for the second time this evening and puts on a mock pouty face.

“I’m sorry, David. Will you ever forgive me?” He extends his arm closets to the other man outwards, invited Washington to move closer. He can see Wash consider it, but decide against it. He slides down the couch and rests his head on the arm of the couch, placing his calves and feet on York’s lap.

He turns up the TV and they listen to a woman with a gentle voice talk about the importance of a fenced backyard. York snakes his hand up Washington’s pant leg and lays his hand on the other’s calf. “That’s kinda gay, York.”

York sighs and swats Wash’s leg. “Oh shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think i'm gonna keep updating on sundays? it allows me to do most of my writing during the weekend. :)


End file.
